


before destiny made our paths cross

by madnessiseverything



Series: those that destiny unites [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Allusions to Fantasy Racism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Urban Fantasy, basically i had modern feels but couldn't quite find a storyline so i did tiny snapshots, kinda? magic and creatures are still a thing, nott and caleb already know each other, nott mentioned rocks being thrown so i added that just as a heads up, single snapshots into their lives before they become a group
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 21:38:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14246286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madnessiseverything/pseuds/madnessiseverything
Summary: They follow their routines, work, sleep, survive, day after day. None of them think to drift off of the paths they find in front of them. Some struggle, struggles they accept because life is like that, isn’t it? Life’s hard. So they continue down that path, unaware of the wave ready to shove them together in the way destiny enjoys so very much, sudden and jarring and beyond any control. It approaches without haste, strikes in odd ways. But it strikes them all, one day. Some day.or small peeks at the members of the mighty nein before they fall into each other's lives.





	before destiny made our paths cross

**Author's Note:**

> so i had the urge to write something, specifically something around a modern au of our beloved mighty nein. but i don't quite have a plot, therefore i simply wrote tiny snippets of what they are up to before becoming a group. consider it the prequel :D hope you enjoy!

There is powdered sugar all over her hands when she catches the young woman, hands steady and the motions muscle memory as someone yells for help. Jester is still swallowing her lunch, lips sticky from her donut and strong arms full with a gasping woman. Calming words rush out of her, a practiced row of sentences used to reassure the people coming to her for aid. She bites her lip in contemplation at the blood staining the beautiful pastel blue dress of her charge. What a shame, really. It is such a pretty dress.  
She slowly lowers the shaking woman, hands pressing down on the stab wound with force. A choked sob tells her the patient is still conscious. With a soft exhale she goes to work. Her fingers tingle with her usual spells, the glow faint enough in the daylight to go unnoticed. While her talents are not a secret to this particular facility, there are too many civilians around, rushing around them with panic. Jester has learned her lesson about open magic among non-mages. The Traveller chuckles in her ear and Jester smiles, the pained gasps of the woman subsiding as magic knits the skin back together.  
The Trick or Treat is in chaos around her. Jester looks up and grins at the sight of the beautifully made pastries she comes here for. Truly a wondrous, magical place, she thinks as the woman slumps against her.  
  
X  
  
The sound of a brake startles him into reality, the dark green waves that have filled his vision turning to the soft grey ones in front of him. Fjord’s bike hums beneath him and he curses, wheels too close to the edge of the water. With a huff, he kicks the engine off and steps the remaining inches towards the end of the concrete pier. He doesn’t question the luck of him braking just in the nick of time.  
His eyes focus on the old wooden pier further out, broken and abandoned in the rush of modern times. The urge to swim out itches beneath his skin, a calling Fjord is too terrified to answer, familiar terror digging its freezing claws into every fiber of his being. He knows what he will see should he disappear beneath the unassuming waves. If it already follows him into his dreams, what will the real ocean hold? He doesn’t want to ponder on it. His chest constricts, the need to lean down and push his hand through the surface nearly unbearable, yet clashing violently with his fear. His heart hammers.  
Fjord wonders when it got so hard to ignore, when the presence at the back of his head got so loud. Before he knows his knees hit concrete and he is face to face with water, both hands reaching down. It’s just out of reach, fingers shaking in the empty air. The realization hurts worse than the need to dive in. His lungs spasm and Fjord wakes, salt water spilling out of his mouth for the second time this month. He’s too scared to think about it.  
  
X  
  
The taste of ash is familiar when he startles awake and the smell of smoke is one Caleb can never shake, so he curls into himself instead of flying out of bed. He presses his forehead to his knees and breathes for a moment or two.  
Then, slowly, he raises his head and stares into the darkness of Nott and his shared room. He can hear Nott’s breathing, slow and reassuring. A ripple in the far corner of the room made his lips twitch with a smile and the vice around his ribs loosens. This is familiar, this he is used to. Frumpkin meows, nosing at his clothes. Caleb pushes up from the mattress with a grunt. The orange tabby curls around his feet as he stiffly pulls on his clothes, his foot getting stuck in the same hole of his pants, just like nearly every morning. A ripping sound makes him wince, but he continues dressing, his shirt too wide on him as he stretches. Caleb remembers a time when it used to fit much better. Now the wind catches under it when he goes outside, chilling him to the bone in the late autumn weather.  
Fingers reach for the light switch, stopping an inch in front of it like every morning. Nott snores louder and Caleb smiles, eyes adjusting to the dark slowly. Frumpkin blinks up at him from his bowl. Caleb knows before he opens the tiny cupboard that the food is scarce. He is used to this too. Ash coats his tongue and Frumpkin purrs.  
  
X  
  
The first stone hits her in the temple with force, the coffee and food she had gotten for Caleb flying out of her hands as she stumbles to the side into a metal fence. Nott already knows what’s happening, too used to this part of being outside. Without a glance up to the direction of the projectile, she scoops up the bag of food, eyes briefly lingering on the spilled coffee-to-go in front of her. Disappointment spreads in her mind.  
A cackle reaches her ears and she runs. The second stone barely misses her, streaking just past her jaw. Nott wonders why they don’t use their throwing skills for something else, wonders why they decide to use it on her. She can’t appreciate their techniques. She has no urge to appreciate it, either, when another stone slams into the back of her head and propels her forward. They’re starting to use bigger ones nowadays, drawing blood with gleeful laughter. She yearns for the early days, where pebbles sailed past her and struck the ground with barely any weight. She yearns for the times they only threw insults. At least those could be hidden deep within her. Blood and bruises mark her body, never allowed to fade before new ones join in.  
Her feet carry her through the streets she knows so well, food clutched to her chest, and Nott wishes she could disappear. Anything to make them stop, to make them forget she is to be despised for simply existing. Blood trickles into her vision and Nott darts into an alley, the screams fading. Just another day of hiding away.  
  
X  
  
The fact that he remembers this place gives him more questions than answers, as usual. Mollymauk knows he’s been here before, his eyes remember where to look to find the tree with the dark red leaves. He remembers the tree, vividly, but the reasons evade him, like anything before the past two years. He is standing in the middle of a desolate park, brain whirring a mile a minute as he stares at the tree in front of him. How did his body know to come here? Why does he remember, but at the same time doesn’t remember at all?  
Molly's heart thumps, possibilities stretching out before him, spinning around his head without pause. His scarred hands find the amulet around his neck, pressing against prominent scars crisscrossing over his collarbone. Fingertips trace familiar lines as his eyes run over the tree. The everlasting fog in his brain infuriates him. It feels like milky white glass, like he is standing here, with a hand pressed up against it and unable to see what lies beyond.  
The cold of the approaching night seeps into his skin slowly. He wishes he could find anyone in this godforsaken place that knows why he woke up covered in blood, with scars he doesn’t know the origin of, and a gaping void in his mind. The red of the tree’s leaves fade to almost black in the disappearing light and Molly sighs, shoulders dropping in the process. If only he could remember anything at all. If only.  
  
X  
  
Her eye is swollen nearly shut, a forced blink electing familiar pain. Beauregard tastes iron in her mouth and runs her tongue across the cut on her bottom lip and the teeth marks surrounding it. Her knuckles hurt, her fists clenching and unclenching as she attempts to heft her sports bag over her good shoulder. Her pulse is rabbiting, still riding the wave of adrenaline Beau so often finds herself caught on in these moments. The cheering of the crowd echoes in her ears as she jerkily nods at her mentor before leaving, bruised knuckles hidden within her hoodie and hair falling into her eyes. The pain makes her grin, a victory well deserved and well won.  
The feeling of hands clapping her good shoulder with pride follows her through the darkened streets, fluorescent lights flickering on as she makes her way to her apartment building. The thought of dodging questions of her nosy neighbors dulls the happiness on her face but the pride still sits firmly behind her aching ribs, just as firmly as the wad of cash stuffed deep into her jackets’ inner pocket. It feels more deserved than any of the money her parents used to throw at her in desperate attempts to subdue her.  
Beau looks down the street, towards the old apartment building at the end of it. Maybe she should move into a different part of town again. She could use a change of scenery. With a nod, she continues her path home.  
  
X  
  
The rain slams into her visor with vigor, her sight limited to the immediate road ahead. Yasha listens to the thunder, growing closer by the minute, and smiles softly. It feels familiar, the bite of the water like a ‘welcome back’. Her Lord growls louder, overpowering her engine and the world flashes a bright white. Lightning streaks across the sky in front of her and Yasha speeds up, eyes half-lidded at the comfort of the storm.  
The distant mountains disappear in the grey, the wind whipping her body as she cuts through the valley with purpose, like she belongs here. And she does, she muses, flying alongside the storm like she hasn’t in so long. She belongs with the storm, follows it to wherever it takes her. The growl of the Lord is a jovial laugh, a clap of lightning the thump on her back for finally coming back. There is no anger in the storm, there rarely is. It feels like peace, especially today. Yasha supposes she can get used to peace, in time.  
The usual anger that lives in her veins thrums quietly. Not a plea to be let loose again, not at all. Rather a reminder to use it only when she really needs, to use it to protect and shield those around her. Thunder rolls and Yasha rides, eyes alight with a determination further underlined with her Lord’s appreciative hum filling her and the air in the valley.  
  
X  
  
They follow their routines, work, sleep, survive, day after day. None of them think to drift off of the paths they find in front of them. Some struggle, struggles they accept because life is like that, isn’t it? Life’s hard. So they continue down that path, unaware of the wave ready to shove them together in the way destiny enjoys so very much, sudden and jarring and beyond any control. It approaches without haste, strikes in odd ways. But it strikes them all, one day.

**Author's Note:**

> i fully intend on expanding on this, hence the series. i might try single oneshots of them meeting, one pov per oneshot or something. don't hesitate to drop by my [cr tumblr](https://nottanothercritter.tumblr.com/) to give me prompts or ideas, or just to scream about these disasters and the episodes.


End file.
